


only then i am clean

by feralphoenix



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Sex, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Incest, Intersex Kris, Knotting, Other, Outdoor Sex, Past Sexual Abuse, Quadrant Confusion, Trans Female Character, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: Susie and Kris have nothing better to do than make out in the woods, but today what should be a tender moment between good friends keeps getting interrupted with flashes of disquiet. Susie's not sure what to think.
Relationships: Kris/Susie (Deltarune)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	only then i am clean

**Author's Note:**

> _(teeth are always in style_ – the little ballerina—glittering, indifferent, the size of a bullet—unfolds.)
> 
> re: the more ominous tags, this fic features susie picking up on some Bad Vibes and later veering between denial and Cant Unsee It while thinking about the possibilities. theres nothing explicit onscreen.
> 
> bonus heads up also that i dont really have a preferred body headcanon for most monster characters (noelle, asgore, & toriel are the exceptions) and u have an about equal chance of seeing trans or cis susie depending on the fic. [see my faq for more about that.](https://ankhors.dreamwidth.org/24952.html)

In this world, there are probably people who’d, like, look around at the fall weather and make a big deal out of what a beautiful day it is, with the sun shining and birds singing and whatever. On a day like this, good, loving parents are probably inviting their kids outside to jump in leaves or play catch or some shit.

You would be down with spending your weekend in the dark world catching up with Lancer, but it is _really_ hard to sneak into the damn school building after school hours without either getting caught or damaging the building in an obvious way, so _that’s_ a no-go.

Which means your and Kris’ only real option is the evergreen pastime of small-town teens everywhere: To steal a picnic blanket from their place (ahem, _borrow a picnic blanket from Kris’ house without permission_ and then _launder and replace it so nobody’s the wiser_ ) and fuck in the woods.

Well. Maybe not small-town teens _everywhere?_ There’s probably, like, some like you two who don’t have extracurricular shit but still aren’t interested? And maybe their towns actually have shit to do in them. The important thing here is that _yours_ doesn’t.

And, like, this is better and more fun than letting Kris get drunk off stolen communion wine and risking their mom like dying of shock from them breaking the law. (She, uh, you think she still might be pretty shocked about this but both of you _are_ overage, so, it’s officially none of her business.)

ANYWAY if Hometown wants to decrease its numbers on scandalous outdoor teen sex they could at least build a fuckin gaming arcade or something, but they haven’t because this is a SHITTY BORING UP ITS OWN ASS IN CHRISTIANITY town.

It’s been a while since you and Kris started fooling around out here in the woods, hidden in the trees and leaves where nobody cares to look for either of you. It started just with them laying all over you like a cat and eventually progressed to makeouts, which led to hands wandering… So, this feels like a perfectly natural conclusion: You leaning on a tree where you sit, Kris’ back pushed up to your front. Their head pillowed on your tit and their restless hand running up and down the tent in your pants; their shirt hiked up over their breasts so you can knead one like a stress ball while your hand’s down _their_ pants and your middle finger’s almost knuckle deep inside them.

They’ve been pretty much vibrating for a while and their insides squeeze wet and soft on you a second before their back arcs up from your stomach. They don’t, like, squeak or anything, but the way their breath stutters when they cum is so hot it almost pisses you off. _You_ could just about cum from the thrum of their clit twitching against your palm, from that alone.

Kris stops feeling you up, though, and pats at your wrist instead, so you retract the hand with extreme care so you won’t overstimulate them or anything.

“You good for today, or just need a break?” you ask. On the inside you’re already reminding yourself that it’s fine if they’re just, like, done, you have two perfectly functional hands, but Kris wiggles around ‘til they’re facing you and shakes their head. Their messy hair flies all over the place and gets even more disheveled.

“I want,” they say, soft and slow, still huffing, “I want more than just your hand.”

_Holy fuck are they about to ask you to eat them out???_ Dude????????????????????? Um that would rule???????????????????? Okay you’re probably gonna (hah) suck at it at least a little ‘cause this is your first try but, like, you _really_ wanna try. If today you actually get to cross an item off your bucket list you’re gonna have to make sure you don’t vaporize on the spot before you actually _do the sex._ You would never be able to live that down.

You only have like fifteen seconds to lose your literal whole entire mind over a hypothetical before Kris shocks you again by reaching out and almost timidly undoing the button on your jeans.

You’re all like _??????!?!?!!!!!??????????!!??!?!?!!?!??!??!????!?!???????_ on the inside and maybe that shows on your face too because Kris holds the zipper between two fingers and looks up at you through their hair and doesn’t move, like they’re waiting for permission, or they’re scared they’ve already done too much. Your brain must be taking too long to hard reboot because they fold their lower lip into their mouth and ask even more quietly, “Is this okay?”

Finally your voice decides to cooperate: “Yeah, I uh,” you manage, your voice cracking like you’re suddenly twelve again or something, _“I’m_ cool with that as long as you are? I just… I’m not sure this is gonna… uh, fit?”

Kris tilts their head at you quizzically, like some little bird, and it’s so cute you wanna punch an ice cream truck. How the fuck are you supposed to explain, though, without it sounding like dudebro locker room bragging on some shitty tv show? So you just wave a hand (…the not-wet one) and Kris tilts their head the other way and then slowly unzips your fly.

Your dick doesn’t just pop out automatically like porn because it’s caught in your boxers and under your shirt a little, but you lift the shirt back over your abs and Kris tugs at the front of your pants and your underwear, and… well.

They at least don’t say anything shitty but you _swear_ you can see their eyebrows go up, just a little, through their hair. And like… yeah. You’ve, like, seen enough pics of cute fuzzy monsters’ cocks, and even human dongs. And you’ve given each other plenty of handjobs but Kris has only ever touched you over your clothes, before. So. Yeah.

By now they’ve been staring at you (barely even blinking!!) long enough you’re like. Half sure they’re gonna, just, call everything off ‘cause they’re grossed out. But just as you’re resolving to say something for yourself so at least _they’re_ not rejecting _you_ and it’ll be your own choice, they lift one hand and poke the shaft _right_ above where it splits. Their fingertip is soft and warm and _basically_ you noisily nearly die.

Kris graciously ignores this because they are a bro among bros. Their mouth bends a little and then splits in a sliver of a grin. “Didn’t know your kind of dragon has trident dicks. Heard of sharks having double dicks from the internet yelling about Zelda games, but. This is way more metal.”

This is, actually, really sweet, and it stokes a warm glow in your chest. You’re sorta grinning goofily by the time you think to worry about what kinda face you’re making. Cause, like??????? You _know_ your life woulda been a lot easier, would _be_ a lot easier still, if you didn’t have one of these, but also Kris is objectively correct that your personal plumbing _IS_ metal as hell and there are worse fates in this world than to be born with a penis that’s cooler looking than the average wang.

“Thanks, man, I’m pretty fond of it myself,” is what you say in the end. You still flip your wrist at it limply, though: “But, like… you see the problem here??? Like, I’ve had my hand all up in _your_ junk enough times to know you’ve only got the one, uh,” you draw a line up and down with two fingers because you can’t think of any euphemisms that don’t sound stupid. “This is… it seems like a lot to cram in a pretty small hole, is what I’m saying, and like. I don’t wanna hurt you, dude?????? You’re my best friend and the whole _point_ of all this is for us to _both_ have a _good_ time.”

Kris’ smile goes so, so soft, and that warm glow in your chest fucking _sings._ “It’ll be okay,” they say, and shift to lightly lay the pads of all their fingers around your shaft. You suck in your breath and it makes the most clichéd sharp sound ever. Kris trails their hand down to loosely rest their hand on your knot and ring your girth with their fingers, and you are— _not_ gonna describe the noise that makes you make, not even for posterity, no way, just nope.

You’re so fucking distracted by now you almost jump outta your skin when Kris goes on: “Like, I’m not just saying this like some. Some sweet virginal _ooh miss Susie ooh I trust you to make this hollywood perfect complete with soft pink bokeh filter as you spear me in the crotch with your monster cock_ sort of thing. Cunts are built tough enough to stretch around a whole baby, and human babies are big compared to human adults. It’d take more meat than you’re packing to do permanent damage. ‘Sides, you’re not _that_ much bigger than what I’m used to. It’ll be fine.”

Wait, what? You wanna stop them for a second cause you have _questions_ now, like, do they mean they’ve done this—like, this kind of sex—before??? But Kris lets go of your dick (dammit) and stands up to roughly shove their pants off their hips and somewhere between your first ever view of pale olive skin crisscrossed in short dark hair and the occasional thin red of a healing cut and the _thump_ of their clothes hitting the picnic blanket you forget all about it.

They stand there for just a second with their pants and underwear around their ankles and it’s as physically naked as you have ever seen them, all right, like they’ve never even exactly given you a view of their crotch before, you’ve only gotten to know their body by feel. They’re not so very different from other humans you’ve seen on like tv or the internet or whatever, just like… hairier, and their clit’s way bigger than anything you’ve seen on cis camgirls or even trans camboys (and no it’s not anyone’s business what corners of the internet you were clicking around to find those _OR_ why so _fuck off)._ Their shirt’s fallen down over just one boob, so there’s still a generous amount of chest hair peeking out next to the other, and them looking down at you with their hair all disheveled and flyaway, dapples of light glinting off stubble on the edge of their chin…

Like… you don’t know how to put this in words but… Kris is so. They’re _plain,_ but you don’t mean that in a bad way??? Models and indie porn stars and tv people and shit, human OR monster, are always so… carefully polished for their intended audience but… Kris isn’t like that. They’re showing you the _real them,_ not some sorta… you dunno, cosplay of the Kris they think you would want. And they look good, yeah, you do not think you could physically stop your eyes tracing the droop of their one floppy tit to their soft middle and the modest curve of their hips and their wet thighs and the deep deep red of what you can see of their cunt. It’s just…

Whatever, you don’t even know, _basically_ them being this vulnerable with you is killing you six ways and you wanna find everyone who’s ever hurt them and chop every single guy into pieces.

You get up on your knees so you can pull your ratty jeans and dirty boxers down off your ass so you’re not gonna get unsexily caught in the zipper teeth, and then you sit down on your coat so you can pull ‘em off your legs all the way and free up your range of motion. You dump your clothes at the edge of the blanket and ease back onto your butt with your knees spread a little. Kris kneels down between them and reaches out to rest their left hand over your breast and tucks the right between their legs, just briefly. When they pull that hand away their fingers are slick with precum and they cast that hand down the length of you to wrap their fingers around the tines of your cock where they split and you choke on air. They lean in to kiss you and you grab their right hip in your left hand and cup their dripping crotch in your right, sheathe your middle finger back in them with a soft wet sound.

Kris moans into your mouth and dances their fingers up and around your cock so you’re leaking precum too, so heat and chills are throbbing all up your body in alternating pulses and you’re shuddering, knot aching for their hands to squeeze it. You have your revenge(?) by pumping your middle finger in and out as vigorously as you can without hurting your knuckles or scratching them, and additionally pistoning your tongue in and out of their mouth as suggestively as you can. They lean forwards into you so you feel the rumble in their chest almost before you hear them groaning.

When they cum they squeeze your cock so hard you nearly follow them, weakly bite your tongue, strangle your finger in their cunt so you’d be worried about circulation if it weren’t so fucking hot. Instead of breaking the kiss it’s more like they fall out of it, they just kinda sit back on their shins with your finger still in them; they stay like that for an agonizing minute or two just breathing with their shoulders and their eyes glazed over.

Then—they lift themself up off your hand, and your heart stutters, your dick strains eagerly, dribbling precum from all three holes.

But instead of… you don’t know what you were expecting, for them to sit right on your dick either facing you or with their back to you, to lay down on their back and spread their legs??? What Kris _actually_ does is face away from you and get on their hands and knees, then drop their head and arms and whole upper body flat to the picnic blanket, ass up, cunt out, like go ahead.

You raise up on your knees and take your cock in your hand, sorta push the three heads close together. You like… you could—are you _supposed_ to, do they _expect_ you to?—grab their ass cheek or their thigh hard enough to hold them open wider (jesus you can see all the way into them like this and it makes your heart turn over) and just… jam it in, hump them ‘til you bust a nut.

But you can see, since you’re above them: Further up the blanket Kris closes their eyes and takes a deep breath and relaxes their whole body as they exhale. And. Suddenly this feels… wrong, somehow? In a way it’s really hard to get a handle on.

So you clear your throat, instead. “Uh… Kris?”

Their eyelashes flutter up and they look… blank, confused. “What?”

“Is it, like. Uhh.” You scratch your head, fumble for words. “Is it, y’know, is it easier for you to cum when you’re on your front like that?”

This gets much more of a reaction: Their eyes open wide, and they actually twist their shoulders so they can look you more in the face. “Um. I don’t know? …Not especially I think? Why does it matter? You can just go ahead.”

Whatever felt _wrong_ initially starts to feel _worse._ “I just…” Goddamn, how are you supposed to actually _articulate_ that though? “I dunno. I sorta…”

Kris’ brow wrinkles in puzzlement. If you let the bad feeling progress any further it’s absolutely going to wither your boner.

“I don’t mind doing it from behind if that’s what feels best for you, I just?” You shrug. “If you repeat this to fuckin’ anyone I will… I don’t know what I will, so just, don’t. But like, it’s our first time having, y’know, this kind of sex. I wanna see your face?”

Kris blinks once, then a second time, and then their whole face flushes deep scarlet all the way to the ears.

They’re not SAYING anything but they’re being quiet EXTREMELY LOUDLY and you fuckin hate it. Like!!!!!! You can’t—suddenly a week’s worth of handjobs and messy fondling and dry humping out here in the woods means _nothing_ because Kris is _experienced_ and you have never, in all your life, felt more like a dumb idiot virgin than you do right now. Ugh, they’re probably _judging you again_ but you’re like. You’re friends now so you can’t exactly slam them into a locker for it this time. Fffffffffffffffffffffffffuck.

Kris looks away from you and, somehow, turns _redder._ What the _fuck._

There is this absolutely hideous, probably-only-five-minute-long pause, and it is Excruciating, but then with aching slowness Kris folds their legs and lowers their butt, and then they wiggle: Top half, bottom half. You only realize when they awkwardly press their arms to the blanket and rotate their legs to the side that they must’ve been trying to turn but couldn’t decide how to.

Still slow, they rotate their upper body to the side, and then twist their hips so their waist is facing up. They roll their shoulders into place last. Even then they don’t seem to know what to do with their hands, gripping at their shirt and then the blanket and finally crossing one arm over their chest, maybe to prop up their boobs and keep ‘em from sagging sideways.

“I’ve uh,” they say, meeting your eyes once and then looking away, “…never done it like this before. This is… more embarrassing than I realized.”

_“Well I’m embarrassed too so I guess we just gotta deal with it,”_ you say. Kris laughs a little all high-pitched like they’re nervous. You huff out a sigh. “Like, seriously and for real, I only half know what I’m doing, so. I just thought, y’know, if I can at least see your face I can hopefully? Catch myself if I hurt you on accident???” It would break your heart to hurt them right now but if you try to say _that_ you will absolutely super die. All you can really do is shuffle on your knees up closer to them, so your thighs and theirs are barely touching. “Uh. I guess if you wanna call this off, now would be a good time to say so.”

Kris’ whole face is the color of a ripe tomato and it makes their eyes look extra blue as they stare up at you. Instead of saying anything they slowly splay their legs wide. You can still see all the way up their cunt into the soft pink vulnerable insides of them. The fabric of their shirt rises and falls rapidly with their breath.

“That’s the go-ahead, right,” you try to joke, but your grin feels shaky on your face.

“Yes,” Kris says in a small voice. _Well._ Okay then.

Your heart’s knocking on your ribs so hard you’re a little afraid it’s gonna explode like you’re the dog dying in some shitty coming-of-age novel, and you also think you’re getting a case of the Feelings that’s toeing the line between best friend makeouts and something else you don’t really wanna think about right now. Rather than marinate in those sensations you swallow hard and line yourself up to the wide opening of Kris’ cunt. Their skin is so hot it basically qualifies as a jumpscare and you deserve two medals and a trophy for neither a) awkwardly jumping sideways and braining yourself on a root nor b) blowing your load all over them already.

You bite your lip so hard you can taste the iron under your skin and feed the three pressed-together heads in. Kris’ chest hitches quietly but that’s their only reaction. You push in a little more. They sigh and blink slow like a cat. And you— _fuck._ The feel of them clutching around your finger is _nothing_ compared to this. They are just so motherfucking _soft_ and hot and wet and they cling and pull like a mouth sucking you in. (Or, like you imagine that would be like. It’s not like you have any way of knowing from experience.)

You bring your hips as close to theirs as you dare, so close the underside of their thighs rest against the top of yours and your upper body’s stretched out over theirs. You let your dick go and balance on your hands, lean your weight to one side so you can brush Kris’ hair from their face with a thumb, hastily rebalance yourself on your hands in case that was too much. They swallow, looking up at you all silent. It feels like your brain is going to explode out the front of your skull.

Your bastard hips just wanna jackrabbit in but you flex the muscles of your thighs as tight as you fucking can to hold yourself still. Kris is—they are _tight._ Like. Not necessarily clamping down on you, just, your dick’s not really supposed to be pushed all together like this, and they are. _Narrow_ in comparison to all of you. You never got your finger deep enough to hit the—like. The end, and you’re not deep enough for the middle head to reach that far either, but. Their flesh gives, and scanning their face it doesn’t _look_ like they’re in pain. But it’s a close fit. It feels good and you’re so fucking scared.

“Y’okay?” you manage to grunt out. Your legs are shaking and soap-bubble bright spots are crossing your vision. “How do you feel?”

Kris breathes in deep beneath you and breathes out slow. They drag their hand that’s limp on the blanket down past your arm to flop it on their belly. You—you can _feel_ it land, or an echo of it, through your dick, and it—you spasm hard against their walls and leak precum, your face _burns._

“Full,” they say. There’s the soft sound of skin on skin and you risk a peek down (nearly pass out at the sight of yourself disappearing into their body, them swallowing you up almost all the way down to the knot): They’re stroking their belly over where you are. Holy fucking _shit_ how are you not gonna nut in three seconds. “Warm,” they add at length. At the corner of your vision you observe their clit twitching lazily. “Susie. You can—move. I’m not going to break.”

They move that hand from their stomach, lift it up, brush it against the side of your face, and they _smile_ at you, which is unfair. You want to cry. They let their arm drift back down to the blanket and their palm is up so you put your hand over theirs. Kris gulps and winds their thin little human fingers through yours. The—the angle inside them changes in a way you don’t know how to describe and their thighs press firmly against your waist. Then you can feel the gentle pressure of what’s gotta be their heels at the small of your back and your dick jumps in them again.

“Finish fucking me already, jerk,” Kris says in a little soft voice with a little soft smile. The walls of their cunt swirl around you like a stroke and their hips start bobbing up and down like a quarter of an inch either way and you’re going to lose your whole entire mind.

By now your thighs hurt from clenching them and your knees hurt even though you’re on the blanket which is on grass, so you tighten your grip on their hand and pull your hips back and thrust in. Their lips smush up against your knot and Kris grunts and you are a Mess, your nuts slap the back rim of the knot and the jolt of pleasure is instant and it is pulverizing. You fuck into them in staggered uneven thrusts and they’re so cramped but so warm and so _wet_ and their smile has gone slack under you.

You find a pace and then stumble again when Kris tries to swing their hips up to meet you in earnest—it kinda fucks up the rhythm so first your thrusts are too brief and _then_ you come dangerously close to pulling out. Then either you adjust to them automatically or they’re trying harder to match you, honestly you have no clue, but something clicks and it’s _perfect,_ slick and sloppy and soft. Your breathing’s all ragged and Kris isn’t like—squeaking or anything but they’re holding your hand hard and gasping. You would probably be cumming right now if it weren’t for the squelchy noises you’re starting to make every time you slam into them.

“Knot me,” Kris says breathlessly, and you almost bite your tongue and detonate your balls at the same time.

“It’s not—gonna fit,” you try to warn them.

“I can take it,” they say, and their voice is getting urgent. “I want—when you cum in me I want _all_ of you.” The arm that was crossing their chest unfolds and reaches up so their hand finds a claw on your shoulder, fingers bunching your jacket.

“Fuck you, this isn’t gonna work,” you say, but your voice is cracking and you’re already slamming your hips into them harder, trying to push deeper.

Kris squeezes your waist in their legs and pulls themself up on you, eyes gone hooded and mouth all sloppy, and every time you collide they make little helpless noises and you can’t stop, you can’t stop, you’re gonna cum—

Brutal tightness, ruthless heat constrict your dick all the way to the root and Kris cries out just once, like a sob, arm and legs all a vice around you. Your brain goes blank for a moment but when your vision swims back you’re making a long low noise like crying into Kris’ shoulder, though your eyes aren’t wet.

And god, you cum on the regular but it doesn’t—it does not feel like _this._ Your hips keep grinding forward like you wanna thrust deeper but there literally is no _deeper_ to their cunt. It should be claustrophobic, they’re crushing you, but the gentle pulse in their walls is fucking hypnotic and your knot feels bloated to like three times the size it should be and you’re still cumming like your dick’s some sorta pressure hose. You’re sweating all over, you’re so hot it feels like midsummer. It should be uncomfortable, it should feel gross, but you don’t think you’ve felt this good in your life ever.

Kris’ muscles tense up underneath you and suddenly they’re clinging with both arms and legs—you didn’t realize you’d let go of their hand—crying _“Susie, Susie”_ in this rich aching voice you’ve never heard out of them before. Their cunt squeezes on you impossibly in ripples and their every exhale turns into a soft moan even as their body goes limp on the blankets, this soft chorus of _ahh, ahh, ahh_ more beautiful than anything they play at church.

You have utterly lost track of time. Kris keeps idly petting your hair and kissing at the side of your neck. This is probably still gonna take a while, so with a herculean effort you scoop your boneless arms underneath their body and strain with your legs so you’re sitting up and you’ve pulled them with you, into your lap. Normally this’d be effortless but it’s like picking up the planet while you’re cumming so long and so hard. You make some weak piddly effort to shrug your jacket off so you won’t drown in your own sweat but you already used up all you had. Kris pushes it down off your shoulders and your bodies lean against the tree trunk behind you.

They seem content in your arms, at least. Sometimes they try to fruitlessly grind on your lap even though they’re so full and your knot’s going nowhere fast, but they still cum; other times they seem to cum from you running your hands down their back to squeeze their ass weakly. In between they kiss your mouth, your jaw, your neck, they rub their flat palms in circles over your tits and play with your nipples until you grunt. You kiss the crown of their head and their temples and their ears. You’d do anything, you feel, to keep them happy and feeling good right here in your arms where nobody can hurt them or push them around.

And, blissed out of your brains and floaty though you are, you still find yourself thinking sentimental shit like—like Kris’ expectations are so low, and you wish you could’ve done better by them somehow, today. There’s no fancy hotel in this dead-end town and you don’t have a car to drive to one but it doesn’t seem like such a big ask to—to get to give them a private room, a big soft bed, an open window. To shove it in their face that they’re worth that basic decency. This was too spontaneous to make any sweeping gestures but it—you could’ve done this better, somehow, and this as it is’s great but you’re not gonna get to do it over. It’s more sad than frustrating because Kris is your best friend and with your whole heart you want to protect them but, like, you suck at that. What you’re feeling’s not pity, for yourself or for them, it’s something gayer and more embarrassing than that, but it’s not—what’s the word. Tangible enough. Anyway you can’t be smart while you’re cumming the entire contents of your nutsack all in one go.

“Your dick feels so good when you’re cumming,” Kris mumbles into your cleavage, twitching all over and smiling. “I’ve never cum this many times in a row.”

You wanna tell them their cunt feels real good when they’re cumming too, you wanna—there’s a lot of things you wanna tell them. But you’re beyond words now so you wrap them up tight to your chest instead. It’s the best you’ve got in you.

Neither of you was really checking Kris’ phone but your best estimate is that it took about half an hour for your knot to finally go slack enough that you could pull out, which is fucking _ridiculous._ You had no idea your balls or your knot could ever _be_ this sore, or that that soreness could be the used-muscle sorta sensation that feels great. You have long sweat-soaked spots under both armpits and there were leaves in your hair and your head’s clanging with a dehydration headache but holy _shit,_ that was sure some sex.

It’s hard to pack up even _after_ a rest because you and Kris are both still so tottery. It’s only when you see them pulling their underwear and pants back up their legs that you wake up: “Oh, oh shit, I don’t even have like a tissue or anything to help you clean up, _fuck—”_

Kris has already yanked their underwear all the way up and is now frowning, trying but failing to get their fly to zip up all the way. Eventually they give up and just pull their shirt down instead. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. If you’re worried we can just bring tissues next time or something.”

That snags at your mind like someone just threw a glass of cold water in your face, like, _wait, what—_ but Kris is already bundling up the blanket into a ball under their arm and they pull you to them by the front of your shirt, kiss you soft and lingering in a way you won’t talk about because this is just—comfort. They pull a leaf out of your hair as they lean back and you pick some grass out of theirs and you laugh, and you see them back to the sidewalks, by which point they’re mostly walking straight again. You stand at the corner and you watch their back get smaller and it’s almost out of your mind, then.

Except it fucking keeps you up at night and you wanna pace about it like an animal in a god damn cage.

_You’re not that much bigger than I’m used to,_ and _I’m used to it_ about—about someone cumming in them without any sort of cleanup. And their awkwardness matching yours when you said you wanted to fuck face to face, their saying the only position they’d ever had sex in wasn’t one they chose because it felt good. And so many other little things, not just today but—but the way they get weird and want to be held, or how you know for sure their total doormatness isn’t laziness or complacency or contempt. What the fuck. _What_ the _fuck._

The thing is!!! The fucking thing is that if it was someone from school they’d slept with you absolutely definitely would have heard about it. Aside from you their only real friend in class is, like, Noelle??? And all the rest of them fucking love to gossip behind people’s backs, and don’t have enough care for Kris to not talk up a storm about them. There’s plenty of rumors about all their _absences._ If Kris had slept with any of them you would absolutely, definitely have heard about it.

But like… who does that leave, then? The way they act by itself is enough to guess that whoever it was, wasn’t kind. And if it wasn’t a peer, then…

They don’t hang around adults much, as far as _you_ know. Maybe one of their brother’s friends? They used to tag around with that group a lot, right? But… they haven’t been so stuck to their brother for a while now, even before he went to college. And, like, just about everyone in that friend group just wanted to fuck Asriel anyway. Kris is about as polar opposite from their perfect charming handsome model goodboy brother as you can get.

It—fucking god, it makes you feel sick even considering it but… what if someone like… if someone they knew before the Dreemurrs adopted them _hurt_ them? (Now, you actually _do_ get up and pace. Kris has been with the Dreemurrs since they were _little_ and anybody putting hands on a kid that little is fucking _sick.)_

_You’re not that much bigger than I’m used to._ They wouldn’t say they’re “used to” big dicks if they’re talking to something that happened that long ago, though, right? So… if you can calm down and step back enough to think clearly, that can’t be it. Thank fucking god.

The question remains, though: _Who,_ though? Probably not the Holidays ‘cause aside from Noelle you don’t think Kris has been around them much since their parents split. Right? So who is even _left?_

You should stop thinking about this. Like. First of all, there’s no _way._

Their dad absolutely could not have hurt them for super obvious reasons. Everyone on the planet knows he’s trans. He is literally not physically equipped to be able to do the things that Kris says they’re so _used to._

Their mom wouldn’t have been allowed to keep her kids at all if she—you can’t even think it, it’s too fucking gross and awful. Toriel is—man. Fuck. She’s not _perfect,_ you get the feeling maybe Kris and her don’t get along that great now you know them better. But. She’s still a good mom. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Never ever ever in a million years.

(You would _die_ if Toriel hurts kids. It’s, fuck, it’s corny to say you look up to her even now. You don’t want to be like her in any way. It’s just. How many adult women do you actually personally _know_ who are like you, as some sort of reference for you to imagine yourself at that age.)

So. Not their parents, at least. Thank god.

_Who,_ then. You don’t want to think about it anymore. You _have to_ think about it, because Kris is your friend, and how the fuck are you going to watch their back if you don’t know who you should be watching out _for._

Not their parents. Not your classmates. Probably not their brother’s friends. Anyone they knew before they were adopted would’ve been too long ago. And they only interact with anyone else under pain of death.

Except.

You try to sit down and have to pop back up again. If you do not keep moving you don’t know what you’re going to do. Break furniture and get yelled at, maybe, or have a fucking panic attack.

Because there’s no way, right? He’s the perfect good guy that everyone adores, everyone seems to look up to, he’s got everything aside from married parents. Track star, choir boy, great grades, charming, half the town in his age range has gotta be willing to jump him if he could distract his mother for long enough. And Kris _loved_ him. When they were little they stuck to him like a second shadow. There’s—there’s gotta be something wrong with you for even thinking it.

But.

There’s a lot of golden boys in the world who get away with murder because they’re just _so_ perfect no one would ever expect it of them. Nobody ever talked about it in school because _surely_ there would be no need to bring up something so horrible in a quaint god-fearing little town like Hometown, or whatever, but you’ve been on the internet and you read the sex chapter in the school health textbook that teachers only ever teach the anatomy and STD and contraception parts of. Like. Toriel and the other teachers make sure your textbooks are recent. So there were a couple pages about Me Too. There was one about rape and sexual assault. There were boxes on that page about red flags and grooming. You don’t _remember_ everything on there, but you remember enough.

Maybe Kris just shoplifted a really big dildo from someplace and that’s why size doesn’t faze them. That could be possible, right?

Dildos don’t cum in you, though, do they? And if they were using a toy they’d probably have like—stuff to clean up with.

Fuck.

You need to stop thinking about this. There’s no way you can _know._ It’s not like you have any fucking right to ask Kris about it, like, _where on the doll did your big brother touch you and how long has this been going on_ like some godawful cliché crime drama.

There’s no way you can even tell anyone. You’d have to tell them what you noticed to make you think someone hurt Kris, and all the biggest things you noticed were about how they behave during sex. You can’t fucking blab about that without their okay first. And everything you noticed is so—vague. You can’t be sure you aren’t overthinking it.

God, you hope you’re overthinking it.

Worse, what if Kris already tried to tell someone and got brushed off? You need like—you want _their lead_ on how to deal with this, how to act in ways they can’t. And you don’t know how to ask them and you don’t even know if this is all in your head.

And isn’t Asriel coming back from college like real fucking soon?

There’s probably some reasonable explanation for all this that you just haven’t thought of because it’s three in the morning and you’re frothing and too fucking hungry to think straight, as usual. Maybe this is just you being way too overprotective because you care way too much. Maybe this is just you being—jealous, in some sick way, that Kris ever slept with anyone else before you, because you’re a mean awful bad person like that. You’ve got to be wrong.

You’ve got to be wrong because if you’re right, you don’t know what to do.

You’ve got to be wrong because if you’re even a _little_ bit right the best option you can think of is just to keep an eye out, and that’s a fucking shitty option. What sort of friend lets somebody get hurt like that, at the hands of somebody they should be safe with?

You’re definitely wrong. This whole-body raw nerve horrible feeling is all from you scaring yourself with what-ifs. There’s no way.

Please, god, you hope you’re wrong.


End file.
